Being alive
by 0074
Summary: A follow up to my story Liberation, this materialised in the middle of the night a couple of days before the final episode aired.


**This is a follow up to my story _Liberation_, so if you haven't read that, you might like to do so first. I have a soft spot for _Liberation_, so I hope this lives up to it as a companion piece. **

**I didn't intend to write this, but it materialised in the middle of the night a couple of days before the final episode aired (and I finished writing the story and gave it its title before watching the final episode). I was also a bit wary of posting it, but was convinced to do so.**

**If you've read my other stories, you'll probably guess that while I have a romantic streak, I also tend to write a bit of angst. So as a last word, I'd like to state for the record that I give kudos to the Spooks writers for a very Spooks-like end, and the actors for pulling it off brilliantly. Thanks.  
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><p>Ruth sat back and stretched, looking out at the blue sky. A breeze was gently tossing the clouds and a couple of seagulls were chasing each other. She loved these kinds of days. Days when she could easily picture herself here in years to come, sitting in the garden and reading, looking forward to the rest of the week. It was the kind of life she'd so wished for, but never believed possible.<p>

Cyprus had given her a glimpse of that life, but even while she was in the midst of it, there was always the knowledge, the feeling, that something was missing. Release from the extreme tension of working for the Security Services couldn't replace her real life or the people who meant the most to her.

Her mind turned to Harry and she smiled, wondering what he was doing and whether he would be back for lunch. She wasn't worried. That wasn't necessary any longer. In the eighteen months since she'd appeared on the beach, they'd settled into a routine. A leisurely breakfast together, after which on some days they would go for a walk or drive.

The days they didn't, Harry frequently took his boat out or went fishing. Ruth read or wrote until he came home. She had begun writing a book and, returning to her classical roots, spent hours pouring over old texts and papers, plunging the depths of the internet, and making notes. She'd made a few visits to the British Library, and a few more cross-country to Cambridge, all of them accompanied by Harry.

Determined to make the most of her presence in his life, he was loath to let her go traipsing around England without him. They'd had a healthy discussion about it during the course of one trip, with Ruth insisting he didn't have to drive her _everywhere_. Harry argued that while he did worry - he knew what kind of crazy people there were roaming the country - it was more that he had spent so long without her, he simply wanted to be close. Ruth conceded the point.

Without being anti-social, they generally eschewed company, with the exception of Mark and Kate. Kate had been been delighted to discover the identity of the friendly stranger who had admired her garden. And even more so to see how happy she made Harry. It didn't take Ruth long to warm to the older couple, and it was rare for a week to go by without the four of them sharing a meal.

The moments Harry and Ruth treasured most were not the mornings when they lazed in bed, rising late, but those when they woke in the pre-dawn light and walked to the beach to watch the sun rise. Harry would stand behind Ruth, arms wrapped around her waist and chin resting on her shoulder. Once, when she asked what he was thinking, he replied with an air of awe, "That it's wonderful to be alive." Her smile beamed in response.

Harry had grown more relaxed and demonstrative. Ruth had long been used to him appearing at her side, but now when he did so, he often took her face between his hands, kissed her, then disappeared again to tinker with his boat.

It hadn't been all plain sailing, moving in together. They may have worked together for years, been thrust into situations that brought them closer than many couples, but that didn't mean they didn't argue, or that they knew the practical things about each other. Ruth certainly didn't know what Harry liked for breakfast, or that he hated spiders. Harry didn't know Ruth loved toasted cheese with tomato sauce, or that she was allergic to strawberries.

So they learned to be a couple in real life, and talk about grocery shopping, painting the spare room, and doing the laundry. Ruth found that Harry was a mean chess opponent, and after discovering Ruth played the piano, Harry tracked down and bought a second-hand one. He loved to lay on the sofa, sleep-laden limbs spread across the cushions, listening to her play.

Ruth also learned how to calm Harry on the occasions when he was struck by nightmares. Her hands and voice soothing him while he slept. He sometimes woke with no memory of the disturbed night, but one look at her eyes told him he'd woken her and why. They'd spoken of it only twice.

The first time, not long after she'd arrived, Ruth was a little scared at the incoherent restlessness, though not surprised he was tormented by memories. Harry brushed it off and explained that though he didn't like it, he saw it as a kind of penance and had grown accustomed to it.

The second time was about six months later. In the midst of a nightmare, Harry had murmured aloud for some time, and Ruth listened, her hand gently rubbing his back, and her heart aching. Laying in bed the next morning she propped herself up on an elbow and said, "Tell me about Adam."

Harry's eyes widened and he paled a little. "Did I wake you?"

She nodded, and he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Please, Harry. I don't know what happened to him, and I need to."

"To Adam?"

"Yes. I know he died, but … how?"

Harry drew a deep breath. "Was I talking about him? What did I say?"

"You called out his name. "

He nodded, closing his eyes.

"He was never the same after Fiona. Not really. I should have done something, but … he seemed to bounce back. He covered it well. When you … after you left, I think he and Ros had a … thing. And then he got a bit too close to an important asset."

Ruth raised her eyebrows, but remained silent.

"He was always one to take risks, but he became even more reckless." Harry paused and took a deep breath again. "It was Remembrance Sunday. There was a bomb in a car and he was driving it, trying to get it away from people. He should have dumped it earlier. I told him to. I told him to get out, but he wouldn't. Said he was almost there. And he was, he made it, except he didn't have enough time to get to safety."

Ruth covered her mouth with her hand. She had tears running down her face.

"Wes?"

"He went to live with his grandparents. He'll be fifteen soon. He's doing well apparently, as well as can be expected anyway. His father's son."

"Oh, Harry."

He reached for her and they held each other tightly until the tears stopped and the memories of Adam, Fiona and Wes dissolved, to be replaced by better memories.

There were other flashes of melancholy, times when they remembered their past and long-gone friends, but they were generally few and far between. The past was exactly that. Neither regretted it because it was what brought them together, but they didn't usually talk about it.

The sound of the door opening and closing heralded Harry's return, and Ruth stood and moved inside to the kitchen.

Harry kicked off his shoes and walked down the hall. As he rounded the corner, he paused and watched Ruth fill the kettle then gather two mugs. It was so normal and, not for the first time, he said a silent prayer of thanks that they had been given this chance.

Ruth knew he was watching her, and as he walked toward her she smiled, "Hello you. Tea?"

"Hello. Yes, please." Harry reached up and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, leaning close and kissing her.

There was one word to describe their life now. Contentment. In their home together. In each other. In being alive.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


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